Fic: Mezzanine: The Might of thy Breath 2/2

[filenotch]

He drew a blank. He was probably just tired, he thought, and then the phrase that had run through his head in the booth struck him. A liar and an honest man. Where had that come from? Robert thought back. The easy lie was JD saying he was fine when he clearly wasn't, but that was too common to note. What had he seen to make him think JD lied?

Robert played back the last few months, trying to spot what it was. It was the first night, when he'd asked JD if he were a pilot, and JD had said no. Robert started the car, drove home, and woke up his computer.

Time to do what he'd been holding off doing, and search for JD's information.

"J. D. Neilson" didn't turn up anything that looked right in the first few pages. He tried to remember what that Mitchell woman had said they did. Software. Searching "neilson+software" brought up the biography page from their company on neilsonmitchell.com, and a full name--Jonathan Daniel Neilson. Military brat, whiz-kid, slightly older than he looked. Cameron Evangeline Mitchell (Evangeline?) had a Master's degree, and had left the Air Force at the rank of Colonel. Robert poked around the site, and found little that was useful. The nature of the software they made was obscure, which meant military or security. The company webpage read like the kind of truthful misinformation he was used to reading around on MITRE's public documents. It had that feel of If you knew what we did, you wouldn't need the web page; and if you need to look at our web page, you probably don't need what we do.

He poked harder and used the databases his company paid for so he could do intensive background research on sales targets. He wasn't above using it for selfish reasons. Neilson's credit was solid gold, and there were the court records of his emancipation as a minor. Robert searched further, but it was too clean. There were no embarrassing MySpace pages, no message board posts associated with his name, no associated or suspected nicks, nothing. JD had left a very light footprint on the net, which was surprising for a precocious computer genius unless he was security conscious from before puberty. Robert decided that was probably it. Maybe JD read Cory Doctorow's book Little Brother at the right impressionable time. JD was cautious, but Robert already knew that.

Cammie was another story. There was plenty to find about her on the web. Colonel Cameron Mitchell had been awarded a Medal of Honor but the story of why was not public. Records showed she was injured in a crash during a training mission in Nevada, which Robert knew was probably bullshit. Beyond that, there were typical net signs of her up until shortly after she joined the Air Force, including her placement in several genealogies centered around North Carolina. Robert almost past by those until he noted the number of military, and the number of dead, going back through the generations. This was a family that took service as a core value.

She still posted to a knitting blog called Ravelry, and had done since college, but that was the last place she was active under her name. There were long stretches when she didn't post, but she'd been posting infrequently, but regularly, in the last five or six years.

A knitting black ops pilot software... something. Robert wouldn't be surprised if she could cook, too, but he wasn't sure about that crash in Nevada. "Training mission" was a typical euphemism for secret experimental aircraft that fucked up. He had contacts. He could find out. Bottom line was that she probably had security clearances coming out her ears, which mean JD did, too.

Robert sent an email to an old friend, asking about Cameron Mitchell, and checked the clock. It was after 4:00 AM, and he had every reason to be exhausted, so he took himself to bed.

Wednesday afternoon he came back from his debriefing with the client's sales team to find an email waiting for him. He didn't recognize the username, but it had passed the spam filter.To: robert.brian@amscorp.com
From: twopointoh@hushmail.com
Date: March22, 2013, 15:12
Subject: dinner

mitchell has made it abundantly clear that if I don't invite you to dinner i will be subject to tofu dishes for a week. she has requested we eschew the delights of the sphinx on saturday, in favor of a family meal chez nous. repondez, si'l vous plait, just to stay with the french for a moment, and directions to our place are appended in the form of a portable document formatted file. 19:00. early enough that we can go out after if you want.

yrs

jdn
Robert looked at the email. He and JD hadn't exactly talked much, but this wasn't how he imagined JD would sound. Robert had intended to take JD out somewhere, some place neutral and upscale, where they could get to know each other better and would have to keep their hands off each other. Sure, he wanted to spread JD out and wreck him again, but Robert felt there was something more developing between them, something Robert thought he maybe wanted. Being invited to dinner at JD's house? That was a bigger step than Robert could have hoped for. He'd get to know Cammie, too, get a read on her and their relationship so he could understand it, figure out how he might fit in.

He'd already looked up their address on Google maps, but he brought it up again. It was a big place out in the county, with enough land around it that he was surprised there wasn't also a barn. The satellite view showed forest close to the house. A property search told him the house was about 100 years old, and they'd bought it a few years ago. The history of building permits pointed to an extensive renovation and additions. Banking and credit searches showed only a standard mortgage on the property, and no additional loans to pay for the work. Nothing indicated they had family money, so software must have been very good to them.

He hit Reply to JD's email.To: twopointoh@hushmail.com
From: robert.brian@amscorp.com
Date: March 22, 2013, 16:48
Subject: Re: dinner

Hey, JD.

Je repond q'il serai mon plaisir, or so Babelfish tells me I do. Anything to save you from the horrors of tofu. See you Saturday.

Robert

--
Robert J. Brian
Marketing Associate
Aviation Marketing Services Corporation
Robert grabbed his phone and tapped out a message to Sunny. got dinner invite, he wrote, and went back to work. About half an hour later, his phone beeped.

tb?

Robert smiled and sent back, no, and then queen of England.

getting srius, Sunny sent back.

There wasn't a question mark, and Robert wasn't sure how to read it. Sunny had left just a few days ago. Maybe he was still jealous, but Robert was sure he'd find plenty of new fish. He texted back, how's ATL?"

flat, came the answer, and then bye.

Thursday's email brought another surprise. To: robert.brian@amscorp.com
From: upnaway94@msn.yahoo.com
Date: March 23, 2013, 14:08
Subject: Re: Question for you

Yo, Bobby-boy. You're funny when you try to talk military. There are clams that keep their mouths closed tighter than the people I've asked. "Cameron Mitchell is a hero, son." That's what they say, and nothing more. I have a sinking feeling that doing you a favor has just put a pinhole in my career prospects. Good thing I wasn't planning to stay in. You may need to get me a job when I get out.

Jim

> Robert Brian wrote:
>
> Hey Jim. Long time no, and all that.
>
> I know I'm not supposed to make any guesses about where you are, but you might be
> able to tell me about someone. Major Cameron Mitchell. How did she really get that
> last piece of chest candy?
>
> Robert
Robert thought that settled the experimental craft question, and the fact that he might have hurt Jim's career bothered him. Jim only used Bobby-boy when he wanted to annoy Robert, so he might have been joking. It was hard to tell.

Robert pulled into the drive. JD's place had that old ranch house look, and the renovations mostly showed in the lack of decay. JD came out the door and across the porch, wearing nothing but a pair of cut off shorts and shoes he could slide out of. Robert stepped out of his car holding the bottle of wine, hesitated over whether to grab the bag he'd packed, and decided to leave it. He was nervous, as well-armed as he could be on their histories, anxious to make a good impression, and unsure of what he was walking into. He'd figure it out, settle down eventually, but this felt like an important client meeting.

JD stepped down from the porch and met him on the walk. He seemed perfectly comfortable wearing nothing but shorts in the chill of early Spring. "Hi."

"Thanks for the invitation. I was planning on taking you to the Pepper Tree, but this is nice," Robert said.

JD whistled softly. "Pepper Tree? That's a date night place."

Date night was an expression Robert's parents would have used. "I thought this was a date."

"I suppose it is, but Mitchell's a better cook, and don't tell her I said that," JD said. "You want to grab your bag?"

Robert had that feeling in his chest again. It sounded like he'd just been asked to spend the night, but he didn't want to presume. He handed the bottle of wine to JD, and flipped the driver's seat forward so he could get his bag from the back. "I packed clothes for Sphinx if you still want to go out later."

"Toothbrush, too?" JD ushered him up to the front door, tapped a keypad, and let Robert in.

Robert had another moment's warmth, but then he was distracted by the keypad. It fit with his conclusion that JD was security conscious, but who locked the door behind themselves meeting a guest on the front porch? He heard JD on another keypad behind him, and Robert vaguely wondered what would happen if he tried to leave. He had several impressions coming in at once--the security, the smell of something delicious and familiar, and then the interior. He had to keep himself from whistling. The renovations had taken out walls without removing any of the charm of a house that old. He was looking at an open living room with personality radiating from the choices of art, the arrangement of furniture into distinct sitting areas, the hand-made things over the backs of couches. There were books everywhere.

The first impression was money, a lot of it, and new, from the high-end flooring to the video wall. Software had indeed been very good to them. Second was family, from a few choice photographs to the sheer ugliness of one of the throws. It had to be from family, because anyone who would make this space would not choose those colors, so it probably ruled out Cammie Mitchell as the maker. Okay, middle class stock made good, but it hadn't gone to their heads. He was struck by the functionality, how despite the fact that the money was new, and the taste behind the design was excellent, and nothing here was for show. If any of the books were unread, it was only because someone hadn't gotten to them, yet. This was a home of people who cared about comfort and satisfying their curiosity. Robert wondered if Cammie was the reader, thinking first that JD didn't seem like the type, but then he remembered the things JD would say that were just off kilter, a little dated, and wondered if he'd got it all from books.

JD followed him in, and opened a coat closet. "I'll stash this here for now," he said, putting the duffle bag inside, and taking Robert's coat. "One house rule. Leave nothing on the floor. Shoes here."

Robert nodded, remembering Cammie's "training crash" and her cane. The floor rule might not have occurred to him, but when JD said it, it made sense. He toed off his shoes and left them out of the way with the line of shoes under a bench.

"Come on in." JD said. Robert noticed that JD was ushering him, keeping Robert in front.

Cammie stepped out from the door to the kitchen, cane in hand and using it like she needed it, like it was as familiar as her own legs. "Nice meetin' you again, Robert Brian."

She offered her hand to Robert. He shook it and said, "Nice to be here. Thank you for having me." In the back of his mind he was ready for her to behave like the other test pilots he'd met, remote observers to a man, but he'd forgotten the woman he'd met in the back bar of the Sphinx. He'd been thinking of a test pilot with tits, with extra ball busting because of her gender, but her presence was something different, something warmer. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt with a picture of a sheep covered in balls of yarn instead of wool, seemingly relaxed at meeting her partner's lover.

Robert stumbled in his own mind over the word lover, but he didn't miss that she'd done this before, that the friendliness held reserve, and if Cammie shared JD's bed, she must have done more than welcome them into her living room. Robert didn't like the surge of jealousy at the thought, so he said, "It smells wonderful."

"Thanks. Startin' with wild rice soup, then trout baked with leeks. Hope you like fish."

"I love trout, and I haven't had wild rice soup in years," Robert said. "My mom used to make it." It probably meant they'd done a search on him, and knew he was from Minnesota.

Cammie smiled again. "We'll see how mine stacks up."

"Can I get you something to drink?" JD asked.

"Anything's fine," Robert said. "Whatever you're having."

"Beer for the moment," JD said. Cammie turned back to the kitchen, and JD stood so as to indicate that Robert should follow. The kitchen was half the size of the living room, and Robert took in the professional level furnishings, from stainless steel counters to a six burner stove. He'd been in houses where the high end appliances were for show, but that wasn't the case here. The elevator made sense, too, given Cammie's cane. JD reached into one side of the big refrigerator and brought out two bottles. "Glass, or barbarian style."

"Like you know how to be anything but barbaric," Cammie said.

"Bottle's fine," Robert said, watching Cammie move back to the stove, and JD move around her, getting their beers, and then plates and bowls that he stacked next to the stove. He pointed Robert toward a set of stools, and reached into the other side of the refrigerator for a plate of cheese and fruit and set it down. Their movements seemed like a dance, well rehearsed, each with an intuitive sense of the other's position and movement. It was beautiful and disconcerting.

Robert found himself shifting into the mode he used for work, disconnected and observing, working to say the right things to get other people to reveal themselves. It almost worked. JD and Cammie were using "company manners," but the layers underneath were different, deeper than Robert was used to.

There was no one thing he could put his finger on. On one level, JD and Cammie read like an old married couple hiding the comfortable bickering in front of a guest. Nothing from Cammie read as jealousy. She was certainly a former pilot, and she had all the indicating behaviors of attention to detail in the moment coupled with systems thinking. Watching her move in a kitchen was a dead giveaway, with everything placed for maximum use and convenience, fresh rolls from the oven, perfectly timed. She probably had some engineering training, too, given some of her turns of phrase. JD read almost the same, and Robert wondered if he had picked up the tells from Cammie, since the bio said they'd been working together for over ten years. Nowhere in the bio was there time for JD to have been a military pilot, and he didn't look old enough for the bio to be a lie.

As for Cammie's bio, he wasn't sure what kind of crash would cost her toes, but not leave the cicatrix of burn scars. Robert tried not to look at her feet, but his eyes kept landing on her tattoos and scars, and going down from there. He was starting to wonder if "Nevada" was as much a euphemism as "training flight."

Robert made it through the meal, his head divided like Gaul into three parts. In one he was figuring out what mattered to these people, how to sell to them as if they were client targets. The answer would be to have a quality product, and not pretend it did anything it didn't actually do. In the second part he was trying to make a good impression on Cammie, someone who was important to someone Robert cared about. In the third part, he was trying to make JD think that he was fine with this, that he could talk with Cammie and be comfortable. A fourth part that Robert didn't think of as Gaul, maybe it was Corsica, wasn't sure how he could have sex with JD if Cammie was in the bed, too.

"I left himself in charge of dessert," Cammie said. "That means ice cream."

"I couldn't," Robert said. "It was too good, and I ate too much." JD stood and cleared the plates, and Robert got up to help. When Cammie made a noise of protest, Robert said, "Your mother might not let a guest help, but mine would get me for not pitching in."

"Fine, but all you're allowed to do is carry." Cammie sounded as if she were giving in under protest, but Robert could tell she was more tired than she wanted to let on. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," she said, and levered herself up. "Be right back."

Robert helped clear the table, and when the last dish went into the sink, he came up behind JD, feeling freer to touch him without Cammie there. Robert put his hand on JD's flank, then slid it up to spread his fingers across JD's abs. "At the risk of sounding cheesy," he said, lips on JD's neck, "I know what I want for dessert."

"Cheesy," JD said, but he turned. "House rule: kitchen gets cleaned right away."

Robert leaned in to bite JD's neck. "What can I do to help it go faster."

"Second house rule: Guests don't help. Keep me entertained."

Robert went for the obvious. "Everything I can think of to entertain you would slow down the process."

JD glared at him over his shoulder. "So talk to Mitchell when she gets back. I'll be done in a minute."

"Talk to her about what?"

"Tell her about your job. Ask her about software engineering. You might not want to get into knitting, unless you don't want to have to talk." JD reached back with his bare foot, ran it up Robert's calf, then put it flat on Robert's shin and pushed. "Get off me. Won't take a minute."

Robert ran his hand down JD's spine as he stepped away. Cammie wasn't back yet, so he picked up what was left of his wine and walked out into the living room, over to the high windows, realizing that something about the space didn't fit. It was too dark to see out, but Robert looked at his own reflection, wondering what would happen next.

Movement caught his eye, and he watched Cammie's image as she walked out of the hall and turned toward the kitchen. He turned to follow her, arriving at the door to see her leaning on the counter, looking at JD. JD glanced up as soon as Robert came into the doorway, his face smoothing instantly, and Cammie turned, smiling welcome. Robert was sure he'd interrupted something, even though he hadn't heard their voices. It bumped him back into work mode, and he realized that "company manners" was the least of the changes in their behavior compared to when he wasn't there.

It had been a split second thing, less than an eyebrow, more than a mere glance that changed in JD's face and was gone as Cammie looked back at him before she moved over to the table. Robert couldn't read it, other than to know that they communicated on some level most people wouldn't see. He thought he might get it, eventually. Eventually. He'd have to, if he wanted JD, because as JD had said, Cameron Mitchell was part of the package. Cameron Mitchell was the one who got to see beyond the unaffected-seeming, obscuring cool that JD always showed to Robert.

Robert wasn't sure what he thought about that, and the jealousy he felt was something different that barely deserved the name. He tried to watch without staring as Cammie levered herself slowly back into her chair. Robert followed her to the table and took his seat, aware of how easy it was for him, even days when his legs were sore from skiing and he thought it hurt to move. What she dealt with was something different, something ibuprofen and a few days of rest would never fix. Cammie derailed his thoughts when she said, "Finish 'er off?" and handed him the wine bottle with the last half inch.

"JD?" Robert asked.

"I'm good," JD said, "but if we're going out, I'm driving."

Robert poured half the remaining wine into his glass and turned to Cammie as he set the bottle down. "I haven't seen you at Sphinx since you introduced me to JD. Want to come out with us?"

"Naw," Cammie said, smiling. It was a disarming smile, or it was meant to be. "Don' need to get all dolled an' go out when the two prettiest regulars been right in my kitchen all evenin'."

Robert wanted to fall for it, but there was something else underneath the teasing compliment. He played along and said, "You should have seen Sunny before he moved. He was working his way through Eighties fashion icons."

"He the Asian guy in that Addicted to Love outfit?" Cammie asked. Robert wasn't sure what she meant, and she added, "From the Eighties video?"

"I'm not sure what he was wearing that night," Robert said, surprised she remembered. He only had some vague recollection of spandex and shoulder pads.

JD turned around. "You should see him do Madonna. He's Chinese, but he pulls it off."

"Taiwanese," Robert said, automatically, noting that JD had paid attention to Sunny and his outfits.

"Got a better figure for it than I ever did." Cammie waved a hand, dismissing the subject.

Robert went for the subject that meant he wouldn't have to talk. "Those blankets in the living room. Your work?"

"Two of 'em," Cammie said.

Robert gave her a smile. "I don't want to insult any one, but I think I know which one you didn't do."

"Well," Cammie said slowly, "she did pick a nice soft yarn."

"The stitching looks different on one of the others," Robert said, seeing that no further comment on the one with the riotous color choice would go over well.

"That's 'cause two're blankets, other's an afghan."

"You'll have to tell me the difference."

Cammie let herself be led, answering Robert's questions about the differences between crochet and knitting. When Cammie wound down she said, "An' I still got work to do."

JD said, "For values of work equaling World of Warcraft III."

Cammie arched an eyebrow at Robert. "You see what I put up with?"

"But we like him anyway," Robert said, still looking for navigation markers in this house. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, but it might work to ally himself with Cammie by saying we, and saying something positive about JD.

Cammie went over to the elevator, and waved as the door shut behind her. JD hung a towel on a rack. "Do you want to go out tonight?" he asked.

"It's early yet," Robert said.

"We don't have to go to Sphinx."

"No, there's always Ginger's," Robert said, "or the Ramrod."

"Hmm, aging drag queens, or a nautical themed leather bar at the edge of the desert," JD said, shaking his head.

"Those leather jeans of yours would fit right in at Ramrod."

JD walked over and put his hands in Robert's hair. "You'd have to be my handsome cabin boy. You're 'way too dandified to make a decent pirate."

Robert leaned into the touch. "I never got dessert." He leaned forward and around to kiss JD at the line of the tattoos ghosting down the side, angling back. He wondered how JD felt about having sex while Cammie worked in the house, wherever it was the elevator led, up or down. He also thought it might be easier to face sleeping with Cammie in the bed if it was familiar already. This seemed like a good chance to find out, but he didn't move. He had too much in his head, too much information from having watched them, but he couldn't make sense of any of it. It wasn't falling easily into place.

"Come on," JD said, and led Robert down the hall, and pushed open a door. There were dim nightlights, clear hardwood floors, and a very large bed. "What exactly would you like for dessert?"

"You," Robert said, because it was expected. He started to look around the room, his professional eye taking the character of the furnishings (simple, elegant, functional), the colors he could see of the curtains, the two nightstands, the door that must lead to a bathroom, the two sets of double closet doors, the hours it must have taken to make the cover on the huge bed. There was love in every stitch and weave, and staring at the colors, he swallowed. Cammie had explained crochet, and on the bed was a broad spread made of squares that had different textures and patterns, made one by one and stitched together in a pattern that wasn't a pattern, the closer he looked, but it worked together. It was beautiful.

"That wasn't very convincing."

JD's voice punched through, and the words were out of Robert's mouth before he knew what he was thinking. "I just don't know how much of you I get to have."

As soon as Robert heard himself say it, his stomach sank. He didn't understand what he wanted, or where he fit, if he could fit. There was no room to add a square to that afghan. Robert closed his eyes, but still saw all the observations of by-play and subtle communication between JD and Cammie at dinner, the tone of JD's voice when he spoke her name, for all the distancing of using surname only--it all came together so that he could finally hear the opening words of the report he would write to his imaginary team. If he were going to try to support the marketing of one Robert Brian to the Neilson-Mitchell household, the opening words would be: The only entree into the close relationship between the founders and managing directors is their mismatch in sexual orientation.
JD's hand was on his shoulder, answering. "You can have as much of me as we both can stand, but Mitchell's part of the deal."

"I don't understand," Robert said, too afraid that he did.

"You don't have to," JD answered, and Robert heard clearly that JD had said it before, or something similar, to someone else. Want JD, get Cammie, too. Very simple. Simple. He could do that. He could do that. What did he need or want from JD, anyway? Uncomplicated sex. They'd probably had more conversation tonight than the previous five months.

Robert took a breath, shook off whatever had come over him, and said, "Let's move this afghan so we don't mess it up."

JD smiled, "So she made you an expert already?" They moved to fold it back, and JD picked it up and placed it it over a stand next to the wall while Robert pulled off his shirt. JD's careful placement of the afghan reminded Robert of the house rule, and he found a clothes horse to hang his shirt before turning to get JD out of his shorts. He was too late. JD was already behind him, reaching around to drape the ragged cut-offs next to Robert's shirt.

JD moved close, mouth ghosting over Robert's neck. "What part of me do you want for desert?"

Robert didn't answer with words. He took off his trousers and laid them over his shirt, his socks on the floor behind the clothes horse, out of the way. He led JD to the bed, pushed him down on his back, and slid up next to him. Robert leaned over to kiss JD, and felt the hot breath of JD opening his mouth. He met JD's tongue with his own, and they touched, slid, danced with their tongues, a contrast from a kiss, because it took place in the cooler air. Robert found himself focused on the strange, hot slide of JD's tongue, unable to go on autopilot.

JD reached out, one of his warm hands wrapping around Robert's shaft, pulling it to hardness. Robert trailed his fingers up JD's thigh and took his cock, stroking and exploring. Robert pushed forward to at least touch lips, and JD bit him. Robert pulled away, pulled his lips out of JD's teeth, and looked down at what he was doing. He focused on the round head of JD's cock emerging from the foreskin, the unveined shaft, and his own fingers curved around and stroking. He glanced from time to time at JD's face, and when he caught JD looking at the same time, they didn't drop gazes until JD slid down, pulling his cock from Robert's grasp and licked in an obscene show of tongue. It was deliberate echo of the kiss-that-wasn't, punctuated by a smile of promise and evil. Robert's breath stopped in his throat, a tight almost-pain in his groin.

"Condoms in the drawer," JD said, before wrapping his mouth sideways around Robert's shaft and sliding. Robert took a deep breath and reached backwards, trying to look over his shoulder to the drawer in the night stand. He found a box, and his fingers didn't stumble as he pulled two out. He handed one to JD who rolled it down Robert's shaft and leaned again to suck. The heat of JD's mouth finally gave Robert something to drown out background noise in his head, and he watched for a moment, carding his fingers through JD's ponytail and resisting the urge to grab his head and push it down.

Robert opened the second condom, and shifted himself over on the bed, pulling JD's thighs until he could get at his cock, covering it and drawing it into his mouth in one motion. He played one hand up the shaft, cradling and rolling JD's balls with the other, and relaxed to enjoy the distractions of sensation. He never got off on a sixty-nine, not unless he stopped what he was doing, and he didn't want to stop. Cock in his mouth, mouth on his cock, male scent and noises, and all was right with the world.

He played his hands over JDs ass and thighs, gripping them, remembering how they felt encased in those leather jeans. JD's hands moved on him, and they were roughly gentle for a few long moments before JD dragged a finger deliberately over Robert's hole. Robert felt himself tense, and JD moved his hands away, but the echo of the touch remained. Robert remembered how it had felt in the club. He moved his head back so he could talk, just long enough to say, "Do it."

JD took him at his word. Robert heard a noise of a drawer opening, the click of a cap flicked open, and then there were JD's knowing fingers, slick and cold. They found everything Robert wanted, everything he had missed for the last five years, better than what he'd felt that night in the back room of Sphinx. He could focus only on fingers and stretching and the deep, shock of pressure on his gland. He couldn't pay appropriate attention to JD in his mouth, and Robert pulled back, stroking with his hand in a spit-wet slide, slowly, intermittently, when he could remember.

Robert groaned when JD took his fingers out and moved around the bed to sit behind him, near his legs. His groan lengthened when JD went back to work, two fingers, this time, gently probing. "You about ready?" JD asked. Robert could feel the bed shift as JD moved to his knees, removing his fingers as he moved, and sliding them back in again when he was settled. "Like this?" he said, pushing Robert toward his stomach.

Robert tensed again. He didn't want to, but it came unbidden. Being bent over like that had too many bad memories. "Hmm. Better idea," JD said immediately, removing his fingers. Robert looked back over his shoulder to see JD wiping his hand on a towel. He had no idea where the towel had come from, and he focused on that as JD lay back next to him, falling behind his line of sight. Robert felt a hand on his shoulder. "Come here. Take what you want."

Robert sat up and turned to face JD, who had laid himself out like he knew how he looked. He was stroking himself, hand slick over the condom, looking directly at Robert, and if there was some ego in the You want some of this? pose, it was well justified. It was the look, though, that took out any distancing arrogance. JD knew what had happened to Robert, and knew that it had been a while. Robert thought JD's expression held compassion without pity, knowledge of who Robert was, and maybe something like forgiveness, but for what, Robert couldn't be sure.

JD reached for Robert's dick, stroking it back hard again with those amazing, hot fingers, as if to say I'm just as happy to get us both off like this. Robert was tired of filling in what JD didn't say, and after what JD had been doing to his ass, he wanted-- Then JD said aloud, "You want to fuck me?" but he didn't move his legs up or roll over, and suddenly Robert got it, and slung a leg over. He reached back to guide JD's slicked cock, and paused. This time the expression in JD's eyes was different. There was nothing knowing, nothing but dark eyes, his tongue flicking unconsciously over his lips, and a dew of sweat on his brow.

Robert moved down, watching JD's face as he took him inside, and JD's eyes closed, his mouth going slack with an indrawn breath. Robert paused for his own need to adjust, because fingers were one thing, but this was a blunt, wide force, and he could see JD suddenly trembling, holding back. JD's fingers skated over Robert's thighs as if he wanted to grab them, so Robert slid his hands under JD's to give JD something to hold on to. Robert pushed back, realized he was panting, too, but didn't stop until he had JD as deep as he could go. It hurt, but it was different from the old memory of pain and force, and as they held still for a long moment, the pain of fire gave way to the warmth of need.

He shifted their hands until their palms faced each other, fingers entwined. The grip was tight. He used JD for leverage and bent down to kiss him, wincing slightly at the change in angle. JD's mouth reached up for his, and the first hint of gentleness gave way without warning to teeth and noise, and Robert giving up, giving in, and riding. JD was as good as his word, because for all that his cock was deep in Robert, it was Robert fucking him, Robert making JD's breath do that, Robert in control, taking what he wanted.

He came with JD's hand stroking his bare cock, JD's cock stroking the deep places. It was something more than release, something pouring through a crack, and widening it with the flood. JD held still until Robert pulled himself together. When he could think again, he took JD's hands, placed them on his hips, reached down to brace himself on JD's chest, and said, "Go. Do it." He was relieved when JD didn't ask Are you sure?, relieved when he felt JD's fingers tighten, and relieved when JD thrust up into him. Robert watched JD's face, framed by hair glued down by sweat, screwed up with pleasure and striving. All he could think as JD pistoned inside him--not hurting, but not pleasure for Robert anymore--was that he was giving him this. This was Robert's choice and gift, and when JD came, Robert could see gratitude in JD's face. Maybe that was how he always looked when he got off, but Robert took it for his own.

Robert watched JD get his breath back, eyes closed again, and slid off. Convenient towels were stacked on a shelf in the nightstand, and he grabbed one to clean JD's chest and then himself. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. JD reached up and pulled him down, and they lay next to each other, Robert's head on JD's shoulder. Robert didn't understand why his chest hurt, or what was trying to come out the back of his throat. He put a hand on JD's chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breath, feeling the heat. He decided to ask.

"Are you--" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Are you positive?"

"About what?" JD said, running his fingers through Robert's hair.

Robert turned and bit JD, but not seriously enough to hurt him. "You know what I mean. HIV. You always feel like you have a fever, but you're, you know, healthy."

JD's hand stilled in Robert's hair. "Aren't you supposed to ask me that before we have sex? I mean, this is backwards even for you." Robert didn't say anything, and he wasn't sure why he'd decided to ask now. He waited, and eventually JD's hand started moving again. Robert was about to decide that the silence was confirmation, when JD said, "I'm not. Is that why you waited so long for me to fuck you?"

"Didn't hear you complaining," Robert said, not sure what was unwinding in his chest. "No. Just-- It's the first time since..." He trailed off, his throat as tight as chest was open.

"Yeah, I think you said something about that." JD's hand changed its motions, touching his head more firmly as it stroked through Robert's hair. "It's all right."

Robert tucked his chin down, knowing that it wasn't a platitude from JD. It was all right. It could be all right, and it wasn't, because this big bed wasn't only JD's. Robert needed to get up and out of the room. "You want to go out? After that, I'm not sure I can dance." He sat up.

JD eyed him. "What are you thinking?"

Robert said, "There's a new movie, Portal. I played that game when I was a kid."

"Then you know the ending. The cake is a lie."

Robert looked at JD. He looked relaxed. Robert didn't feel relaxed. His body was more sated than he'd been in five years, but he felt want, need, restlessness for something, but he didn't know what. He said, "Well, what do you want to do?"

"We could hang out here. You saw the video library. Unpack your toothbrush, watch stupid movies with me, and fuck me in the morning." JD smiled, half-lidded. "Or fuck me in an hour or two."

Robert tried to play along. "Got anything to put us in the mood?"

"All that stuff is on one of my hard drives. Mitchell has a house rule about keeping it out of the living room. Besides, she'd have too much fun watching us watch porn." That was not an image Robert wanted in his head, and his legs twitched with the need to move, to be out. JD said, "You okay?"

Robert felt he had to say something. He couldn't say that he couldn't sleep there, not without insulting Cammie by implication. He blurted out, "You've really helped me get over it." He sounded stupid and earnest in his own ears. He couldn't believe he'd just said that.

JD opened his mouth, taking in a breath to speak, then stopped himself from whatever it was. "It's really okay. Don't mention it." As always with JD, the politeness wasn't only polite. Robert could tell that about the last JD would want to do would be to talk about it, and Robert had the dry, hot feeling that he had just completely screwed up.

He swallowed dust. "I should probably go." He hoped he wouldn't have to explain why, and fought the urge to fold in on himself.

"You're not the first person who couldn't handle the idea of sleeping with Mitchell, too."

Robert looked up. JD's face was impassive, but the phrasing could only be meant to wound, to make some point, to push away. Robert got up and dressed, and JD reached around him to get his shorts from the clothes rack, stepping into them as Robert sat on the bed to pull on his socks. Robert felt defeated, drained, the twinge in his ass reminding him of just how high he had been, and how far he felt he'd come down. He didn't like it, the tug of extremes. He looked at JD, who had his back to him, arms down as he buttoned and zipped, and for a moment the tattoos looked like wings folded tightly down. The illusion was broken when, along with some movement of dressing, JD's elbows moved away from his sides.

Robert stood, but he didn't want to just walk out the door in an awkward exit. JD saved him by turning and opening it, standing aside and following Robert to the living room, past the kitchen, and to the front door. Robert sat on the bench to put on his shoes, and JD leaned into the hall closet to get Robert's bag. Robert looked up, and realized what was wrong with the living room. There was no sign of Cameron Mitchell's military service, no flags or Air Force insignia, no medal in its shadow box in place of honor. Whatever had happened to her had left scars in places other than her legs.

JD punched the alarm code into the pad by the door, and let Robert out, following and carrying the duffel bag out to the car.

It was trying to snow, a spitting, stupid, late spring snow that didn't have enough sense to know that if it reached the ground it would only melt. The flakes that hit JD's hair melted, but those that landed on his skin seemed almost to steam the instant they touched. Robert reached for the duffle bag, but JD didn't let it go. They stood, each with a hand on the strap.

After a moment, JD said, "I shouldn't have said that." Robert looked up. JD meant it.

"But it was true," Robert said. "And I'm not sure I can take the whole package." He meant more than Cammie, but wasn't sure that JD knew.

"Look, I--" JD looked away, squinting off to the right, as if looking for something through the snow. "I should have just let you take me to Pepper Tree."

Robert didn't trust himself to say anything appropriate, so he looked off in the direction JD had, seeing trees and mountains, slightly obscured by the haze of small snowflakes.

"Hey," JD said, putting a hand under Robert's chin, leaning in close enough to kiss. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me, too." Robert leaned in. The kiss was dry and closed-mouthed, but it was warm.

When they drew away from each other, JD let go of the duffle and put his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "Want to take a step back?"

Robert nodded. "See you next Saturday? Sphinx?"

"Same bat time, same bat channel."

Robert squinted at JD. It was another of his weird, old references. He said, "Yeah."

JD stepped back, and Robert got into the Audi. "Drive safe," JD said before the door closed. Robert nodded at him, started the car, and turned it around to head straight out the long drive to the road.

He pulled his earpiece out of the center console, turned it on, and said, "Call Sunny."

He didn't get an answer in four rings, so he thumbed the switch to cut the call, and said, "Call Emily." It was after 10:00, but it was an hour earlier back home, so she'd probably be up.

His sister answered after two rings. "Robert, everything okay?"

"Yeah." He suddenly didn't want to talk.

"You don't call me on Saturday night without a reason. Give."

"You sure this is a good time?"

"Yep. Perfect. The girls are in bed, and the little nipper's having his bedtime snack. Nursing can be boring. I may have to interrupt you to change sides, but what's up?"

Robert could feel himself blushing. He loved his sister and his nieces, and even this new nephew he hadn't met, but there were details of female biology he never wanted to think about. He took a breath. "There's this guy."

"I'll alert the media," Emily said, but she caught herself. "Sorry. I just, I don't know. I can be a little jealous."

Robert knew, and he had always tried to minimize the differences between her family life and his bachelor existence. Only when he thought of it did he realize existence was the only word that applied to him. He was existing only, and had been for about five years. Even these last six months with JD, he'd been walling off every thought of emotion. He snorted. Sunny had been right.

"Earth to Robert."

"I--" he started. "Look, you probably don't want details of my sex life, but this is important."

Emily didn't answer right away, and Robert wasn't sure how to say what he wanted to tell her, but she said, "The first time since--" She didn't fill in the word rape. "You were, I mean he did..."

"Yeah," Robert said, relieved he didn't have to say it. He was suddenly relieved that Sunny hadn't answered his phone. If he'd said as much to Sunny, he'd be getting an earful of Oh, so Toppy Robby finally put his ass in the air. But Sunny hadn't known him before, and couldn't know why it mattered.

His sister said, "That's good, right? Oh, wait a minute. Max needs a burp." Robert listened to the noises of her putting the baby over her shoulder. It must have been the side with the phone in her ear, because the baby sized brawp was a distinct noise. He started to laugh. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I really am. Better."

"Will you see him again?"

"I've been seeing him, I guess, for a while."

"So, what's the problem?

Robert told her, ignored two calls from Sunny, and listened to her put the baby to bed. He finished up as she went back down stairs to the couch. He could see her in his head, toys and stuffed animals scattered around the room, TV off, and probably a fire in the wood stove.

"There," she sighed. "I can sit now."

"What should I do?"

"It all sounds a little unusual."

"Thing is, I think you'd like Cammie."

"But you're telling me that they're life partners, not just business partners, and it's not like you have the slightest interest in women you're not related to."

"I like her fine," Robert protested, but he knew what Emily meant.

"What do your instincts tell you?"

"I don't know," Robert said.

"That's what you need to figure out."

"I know." They hung up, and Robert turned off his cell phone. He drove to Sphinx, and found someone he'd never met before to suck his dick.

When he got back to his car, he turned on his phone, and stared at the message notices. There were four calls from Sunny, and three text messages. Robert closed his hand around the phone and held his fist to his mouth, jaw tense against his fingers. He hated the thought of Sunday, irritated at Sunny for being gone, and at loose ands as to what to do without him. Robert drove home, reached for a beer, then changed his mind. He took the bourbon out of the cabinet, and got down a glass.

They were in a cubicle in the back, Robert leaning on his hands and pushing his hips in rhythm, JD holding on and fucking him. It was dirty and sweet, just the kind of thing Robert had loved before... Before... "Give it to me," he said, wishing he could come from JD's cock alone, but he couldn't. He reached down to feel JD, the wet slide where latex met flesh, before palming his own balls and stroking himself, in time with JD's hips at first, but then faster, racing to come, feeling himself clamp down. God this was good.

When he was finished, JD pulled out. Robert leaned against the wall with both hands again, trying to get his breath back. He heard JD tear off paper towels and then the noise of the condom coming off.

"Here," JD said, handing him the towels

Robert took a breath, then the towels, cleaned the lube off himself and wiped his semen off the wall and the floor. When he was done, he turned to throw the towels at the trash can, and saw JD putting on another condom. "I want your mouth." Robert had been seeing a new side of JD, an intense and commanding one. He liked it.

Robert pulled up his jeans and went to his knees.

They came through Robert's door and shed clothes on the way to the bed. JD spread himself face down. "Fuck me. Now. Don't wait." Robert swallowed. He'd been looking forward to putting his heels to the ceiling, watching JD's face as they fucked. "Get over your newfound pushy bottom status, and fuck me." JD said. "It's been a few weeks. I miss it." Robert wasted no time finding a condom and lube. He tossed the square packet on the bed and slicked up his fingers, then pushed one past resistance to slide it into JD. JD spread his legs and arched his back, opening and inviting despite the hiss of discomfort Robert could hear, and the words that came out. "Shit. Ah! More. Now."

Robert did as he was asked, working in the second and third fingers quickly, and contemplating a fourth. JD pushed and begged, and Robert absently wondered if he'd have to fist him. The tone under JD's calls for more and harder had an edge of pain.

Robert pulled back, sliding only two fingers back in. He felt the muscles of JD's opening clench around him, as he looked for JD's gland, trying to make this more pleasure than pain. JD made a noise of frustration. "More," he said.

Robert folded four fingers together and pushed. JD again made a noise that held desire and pain, and Robert poured on more lube and pushed deeper, watching his knuckles disappear as he forced JD open. Much more, and Robert would almost be in up to his palm. There was no room for finesse, for finding the things that felt good.

The noises coming out of JD were strangled, and Robert wasn't sure if JD was trying not to scream in pain or not wake Robert's neighbors. Robert noted that JD wasn't hard, and he wasn't either. JD's noises resolved into a rasped whisper of, "Oh God, please. Oh god." "Please. Oh god, please." He knew begging wouldn't help, but he couldn't control it any more. He just wanted it to stop.

One of the voices said, "Man, I can't even jack off to this shit."

"Little faggot isn't even hard. I thought they were supposed to like this stuff."

The third voice said, "Who knows with faggots."

'I thought they were supposed to like this shit," the second voice said again.

"Maybe he wants a real prick," the third voice said. "Anybody want to fuck him?"

"Hell no," said the second voice. "That'd make me queer."

"Didn't make you queer to have him suck you off."

"I'm bored," said the first voice. "We done yet?"

"I guess so. Clean off that wrench and we'll dump him."
"I can't do this," Robert said, pulling out his fingers slowly, rubbing a circle on JD's lower back with the other hand, centered on the point of the tattoo. JD stilled, trembling, and Robert got up to wash his hands. JD had his jeans on by the time Robert came out from the bathroom, and was slipping into his shirt, face blank.

Robert wanted to say he was sorry. He felt he should. It hadn't been nice to leave JD in whatever state had caused him to want the more and the harder that Robert couldn't give. JD stared at the photographs of military aircraft on the wall. It reminded Robert of their first night and the sense that JD had lied to him. "Which one's the most fun to fly?" Robert asked.

JD let out his breath slowly, but Robert couldn't say he sighed. "Why do you think I'd know?"

"I don't know. I do know you've been a pilot."

"You know?" JD asked. Robert thought he heard something like fear in JD's tone, but it was mostly dressed in layers of sarcasm. "How can you know something that's not true?" Robert didn't answer. He thought it would be the easiest way of drawing JD out.

He was wrong. Robert was the first to give in. "Do you know what my job is?"

"Marketing," JD said, and Robert heard a neutral tone meant to cover a very slight scorn.

"But not the way you think," Robert said. "I profile the targets for the sales reps."

"What, like Mulder?" When Robert didn't answer, JD said, "I guess you never watched the X-Files."

"Sorry, no." Robert took a breath. "I'm good at reading people. It's what I do for a living."

JD snorted. "Interesting."

Robert said, "You don't make sense."

"No," JD said, his eyes still on the aircraft. "I'm sure I don't."

Robert took another breath. "I'm sorry."

JD's answer surprised him. "About what?"

"I should have, you know, given you what you needed. It's just that it--"

"Triggered something," JD said.

"Yeah." Robert watched JD. He was still looking at the aircraft, eyes moving over the lines, glancing from one to the other. Robert could almost hear the gears turning, but he had no idea what JD was thinking. Robert said, "A couple of months ago, I could have done whatever you wanted me to do to you."

"So what happened?" JD asked.

"You. You gave it back to me, just the way I needed it. But I don't understand you. I thought I did. I can tell what your body wants, but I don't know what you want." Robert shook his head, even though JD wasn't looking at him. "I can't read you."

JD finally moved, dropping his head for a half second. He muttered, almost as if he didn't want Robert to hear it, "I'm not the only one you can't read." JD looked back up at the pictures a few more moments, and then turned to Robert. "We're done, right? You know. Over."

"Yeah," Robert said, and dropped his eyes without thinking. Then he looked up. "Why?"

"Preference. In bed," JD said. JD lied. JD told the truth. "You got me used to some really prime dick." Robert's chest froze, the air in his lungs suddenly unable to move in or out. JD was looking at the wall, and the crude choice of words, the stance, were designed to distance, if not to wound. "I'm going to miss it, but I guess the last three weeks of tapering off should make it easier." Robert couldn't say the one thing in his head, because JD was still talking. "I thought you were a buster, not a bronco. Did a good imitation for a while, there."

Robert wasn't familiar with the terms, but it wasn't hard to figure out what JD meant. "Before," he said. "And then you--" Robert cut himself off so he wouldn't repeat himself.

"I liked you fucking me. I liked fucking you. It wasn't supposed to be therapy. If I'd known I'd lose the best sex I've ever had, I would have tried harder to avoid the whole sexual healing thing. I've always hated that song, anyway." JD said, a sneer in his voice, even if it wasn't on his face. He immediately followed it with, "Sorry."

Robert heard pure Minnesota in the O sound and practiced clip of sorry, then thought back to the dishes Cammie had served at dinner last month. He'd thought the wild rice soup meant they'd Googled him enough to know he was from Pipestone, but he was shocked to realize it had to be more than that. Who else but a Minnesotan would apologize for purposefully trying to piss someone off?

Robert had to let him off the hook. "So, you know, not working out this top and bottom thing first is just another example of me doing things backwards, right?"

JD threw back his head and laughed, real and almost relaxed. Robert was pleased that JD had accepted the kindness, and maybe even believed it, but now he just wanted him gone. He kept his ironic smile on his face, and said, "Say goodbye to Cammie for me."

"I'll do that," JD said. He looked fully at Robert for the first time. "Say hi to Sunny for me." And then he was gone.

Robert sat on the couch, looking at the photographs of the U-2 spy plane, the Blackbird, the high-altitude craft. They all reminded him somehow of the contradictions of JD--remote and flashy, safe and dangerous. Robert liked airplanes, but he hadn't liked flying them. They were something he could appreciate from a distance, knowing that they were complicated and beautiful, with a very low margin for error. Everything was there for a reason, even if Robert didn't know all the engineering. Same with JD, but Robert knew he would never have been able to figure out what was underneath that beautiful paint job.

Tomorrow was Sunday, and he still hadn't figured out what to do without Sunny for brunch. Then he realized what JD had said--not to say goodbye to Sunny, but to say hi.

Robert sat at his computer, barely thinking about what he was doing. His travel calendar was clear for the next week, and there weren't any important meetings scheduled in the office. He emailed his boss saying he'd be out Monday, and likely the rest of the week as well. He had vacation due, and it paid sometimes to be a star performer. There wouldn't be any serious repercussions. Within forty-five minutes he'd burned frequent flyer miles and paid the expedite fee. It would mean getting up in four hours to make the flight, but it would be worth it. With the time difference, he'd make it to Atlanta in time for brunch.

"Quite a story." Robert felt lips on his forehead, a kiss and a blessing, a ghost of long hair brushing his cheek, catching in the stubble of his beard. "Thank you."

"For what?" Robert asked.

"For coming to me. For telling me what happened to you. For delivering Tattoo Boy's message."

There was something Robert was missing, something deeper than what had been said. He couldn't get it without looking at the body language, too. Robert tried opening his eyes again and decided it wasn't a good idea. "What happens next?"

"You go to sleep, and tomorrow I will cure your hangover. After that, we will see."

"What about work? You just started. You can't have a day off already."

"They fire me, then I'll quit."

Even drunk, Robert caught the flaw. "If you're fired, how can you quit?"

Sunny's voice was soft. "For you, the moon."

"You love me." The words were out before Robert thought them. When he heard them in his own ears, he knew they were true.

"I want to hear my name."

"Okay," Robert said, thinking it was a random comment even given the source. "Sunny," he said. "You making sure I know where I am?"

"No. My name."

"Song Yang," Robert said, and it felt good in his mouth, and he didn't want to stop saying it. "Song Yang, Song Yang, Song Yang."

Sunny pressed his lips to Robert's, shushing him. "Yes. I hope you are not so drunk you won't remember this conversation in the morning."

"How could I forget." Robert smiled and managed to get his eyes open. Sunny leaned over him, looking amused, with his head on one hand and the hair that had escaped from his ponytail framing his face. Robert said, "You told me you loved me."

"I did not."

"Did, too."

fin